


Lights in the Night

by abscission



Category: Seduce Me (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Malix dies, Promiscuity, Succubi & Incubi, he dies and stays dead, not even a spoiler, some ugly emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 08:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11309289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abscission/pseuds/abscission
Summary: Demons don't love easily. Mika knows this, but damn it, she's still hurt.Finding five self-styled demons in her foyer is turning out to be the least of her worries, what with a vengeful horde of devils on her heels AND a lusty busty succubus breathing all over her recording equipment.





	Lights in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a harem. Since Sam is acknowledged to be the 'canon' route, Mika will eventually end up with him.
> 
> I aged up everyone. Mika, Naomi, and Suzu are preparing for their first year at the local college - school hasn't started yet. The demon brothers are aged up accordingly, and has been around in the human world longer.
> 
> This is a work I am writing to de-stress. Will hopefully be able to update weekly.
> 
> all seriousness aside, this is very much a late-night writing binge.

A dead grandfather, a will, and an empty, looming house. Mika Anderson sighs as she drops her two duffel bags on the carpet in front of the door, pulling out the large set of keys that the lawyer had passed to her after the funeral.

The keys jingles as she searches for the right one.

Eventually Mika inserts the right key, turns the lock, and picks up her bags. The door creaks on its hinges as she shoves it open, and the house echoes it back at her. She takes a second to sigh once more. Echoes and shadows and big empty spaces — this is her life now.

The door is heavy, not inclined to stay open by itself nor by her measly strength. Mika jams a foot in the doorway, then twists, pushing the opening wider with her hips. In a mighty feat of contortion, she squeezes her bags and herself through the crack, remembering to pluck the keys off the lock at the last moment.

She turns around, mind already jumping to finding her bedroom and her audio set up, and then she stops. Staring.

There are people in the foyer, collapsed on the marble floor.

The door shuts behind Mika with an audible click, and the keys fall out of her limp hand, a cascade of chimes.

These people are _bleeding_.

For a second Mika simply watches the blood spread into a little puddle beside a boot and a leather sleeve and a dog tag, and then her brain catches up with what she’s seeing, and she drops her bags with a gasp.

Her mind flies to first aid. No time for her to go hunting for the kit that must be in the house — she used to trip on the large staircase all the time and Grandfather _always_ had band-aids and gauze — so she rushes forwards, hands fumbling with her phone.

The scent of blood, sweat, and soil hits her like a solid wall. The urge to gag stops her in her tracks for another second, but she reaches out to the nearest man and gives his shoulder a rough shake, free hand shakily dialing for the ambulance.

His bare arms sport bruises and cuts, and there’s a clump of dirt on his elbow. A smear of blood sits beneath bleeding lips, and as Mika pats his cheek (“Hello? Hello, can you hear me?”) she scans his body for other injuries.

The blood on his dog tag doesn’t belong to him — Mika follows the blood to a blond, swallowing to see an ugly, jagged slash tearing through his waistcoat. The pink fabric is stained beyond saving.

“Woman.”

Mika looks down in shock. What—

There’re hands on her cheek, cool and wet. Something knocks the phone out of her slackened grasp.

She stares into a pair of glass-green eyes, and is mesmerized.

His hands burn, their grip firm and unyielding.

He asks something.

She says yes, mind clouded and senses dulled, and — he’s kissing her.

A part of her rebels at that with the force of an explosion, screaming bloody murder, but her hands won't move and her legs are weak and the man tilts her head back, opens her mouth, slips in a tongue. His lips are chapped and dry and they hurt, tasting of blood, but he breathes honey and spice and _moans_ into her mouth (like a porn star— _get off_ ) and Mika drops to the floor with a jarring crash, landing right on her knees.

The man is no longer kissing her. In fact, he’s complaining about something.

There’s also a second voice.

“Because you used your abilities on her.” The second voice is saying, deeper, harsher, like a whip cracking through the air, dripping with disapproval.

Air and the situation rushes back to Mika. Her vision swims, aftershocks of pressure on her lips sending waves of pleasure  Did someone just—

“Sam, you’re such a brute, taking advantage of a beautiful young woman like her…” says a third voice, satin-smooth and rugged, and something pink moves in her vision.

Mika pushes herself into a sitting position, blinking away the unnatural undulation of the floor.  _Did he just—_

“Shut that pretty boy mouth of yours before I rip it off your pretty boy face,” the first voice — _the_ voice— growls back, and finally, Mika’s vision clears.

“Sheesh, guys, can we not fight right now?” this one is thin, reedy, adolescent. “Not all of us are in the best of states…"

She snaps her head up, indignation and embarrassment rolling broiling in her stomach. How dare these people stand there and talk like she doesn’t exist?

Alright. _Which one’s Sam?_

Mika doesn’t realize she’s growled that out loud until the men standing in the foyer — _her foyer_ — looks at her.

One man in particular, with a mop of unruly brown hair and poison-green eyes and a gleaming, bloodied dog tag, starts in surprise.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Mika’s already found her strength, and she rises like a vengeful goddess, red-faced and sharp-eyed and fists raised and with immense satisfaction, clocks the man across his face.

He yelps in pain, staggering back a step. “What’s your problem, woman?!"

“My problem? _My problem?_ You can’t just go around kissing people like that you sick—!” Mika stops abruptly, eyeing his arms. She could swear by this house he had cuts and bruises on them just a minute ago. And his lips, they aren’t bleeding anymore. What’s going on here?

Mika sweeps her gaze over the five men gathered in her foyer. There’s only one person she remembers seeing, and the pink waistcoat, though torn, merely reveals a raw scar, scabbed over and fresh. The bloodstains on the edges of the wound hint at another story, however.

Mika narrows her eyes.

Meanwhile, Sam splutters. “It was only a kiss! The hell does it matter?”

She glares daggers at him. “It might not mean anything to someone like you, but it sure does to me!”

Sam glares right back. “What, was it your first kiss?"

It's slightly embarrassing. Naomi has a boyfriend of two years, and even the tom-boyish Suzu Cappini had gotten laid, never mind a kiss, but here’s Mika Anderson, college student and future CEO, still a virgin, clinging to her first kiss.

She feels her non-existent hackles rising.

Sam’s arms fly up to protect his face as Mika takes another swing at him but _ha!_ she thinks, and sucker punches him in the gut.

“I had at least expected it to be something _consensual_ ,” she snaps. Her hands sting, but her pride is still intact.

Sam recovers admirably fast, and he snorts. “You did say yes. And what d’ya want me to do? ’s not like I can take it back.”

“You—!” It’s Mika’s turn to splutter, face reddening once more, but Mr. Pink Waistcoat hurriedly steps in, holding his hands up.

“Whoa, whoa, princess, calm down.” Though his tone is appeasing, his purple eyes glitters with amusement. Not looking away from Mika, Mr. Pink Waistcoat turns slightly to address the man behind him. “Sam, apologize.”

“Why I do always look like the bad guy?” He exhales heavily, running a hand through his already messy hair. Mika’s eyes zero in on his clean elbow, and feels something other than anger seep into her system. “Apologies aren’t my forte, but I’ll try my best.”

She hides it, not wanting to show weakness in front of five strangers, and does her best to glare Sam into submission.

In front of her, Mr. Pink Waistcoat breaks into a smile.

Sam furrows his brows and looks to the side. “Okay…fine. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for what?” Mika prompts, but her attention is already straying. To the puddles of blood, drying on the marble floor; to the blood on another blond’s sleeve; to the ruffled lapels of a man in glasses.

This is wrong. Very wrong.

“—for kissing you like that. I went too far.” Sam is saying, still not looking at her. “I didn’t mean for it to turn out that way! It’s just— I act on impulse, ok? It’s difficult to control myself, and— ugh, what am I saying…”

“It’s okay. Thank you for the apology.” 

Something drips, and Mika abandons all pretense. She whips around to the source of the sound, focusing on the shortest person, who immediately hides an arm behind his back. The fact that he looks younger than her doesn’t give her pause. The skull head on his shirt is smeared with blood.

She strides over, ignoring cries of alarm around her, and snatches the boy’s arm. Sure enough, there’s a deep cut on the inside of his arm, slicing through the jack and the shirt sleeve, bleeding sluggishly.

Mika registers the boy’s grimace of pain, and drops his arm, feeling slightly guilty as he flinches away from her, but not enough.

No where near enough.

“What’s going on?” she demands, to no one in particular. The burning anger had cooled into something not unlike trepidation, but that just spurred her to keep herself in check. “Who are you, why are you here?”

Sam rolls his eyes and turns away. Mr. Pink Waistcoat makes to step forwards, but the man in glasses beats him to it.

“I’m very sorry for our intrusion, miss. We weren’t aware this abode belonged to anyone, nor did we have time to take that into consideration. May I introduce us?” He sweeps out an arm, indicating everyone.

Mika inclines her head, not missing the boy and his companion shuffling away to join the others.

“I’m James,” says the man in glasses, gold eyes flashing, then points to each person in turn. “These are my brothers: Matthew, Damien, Erik, and Sam, whom you’ve met. I’m the oldest.”

James smiles at her, but Mika is silent.

Her eyes flit from one brother to the next, matching faces to names. Matthew is the boy she’d scared earlier, and Damien the one who hurried to him. Mr. Waistcoat is Erik, and Sam is looking around the foyer.

“And?” she says, landing her gaze finally on James.

“And what?” he smiles disarmingly. Is that a canine?

Mika takes two steps to the left, using force to hide her slight shaking, where a puddle of blood had congealed, gleaming in the slanted rays of the setting sun. If those two steps took her further away from the men, all the better.

She jabs a finger to it, more of a spasm then a motion, then jabs at Erik. “What happened?"

As one, the brothers turn to Erik. With a guilty smile, Erik covers his wound with a hand.

“Who are you, really? Normal people don’t just stand up after wounds like that. Wounds certainly never heal that fast.” Mika keeps her voice tightly controlled. If it’s one thing she can do, it’s control her voice. Five years of rebelling against her father as a jazz vocalist isn’t going to culminate in her being unable to hold in a wobble. 

The sun’s rays had already moved on; the particular puddle she’s standing beside isn’t gleaming anymore.

It’s going to be night soon. The reality of being stuck in a big, empty house with five strangers suddenly hits her, and her mind jumps to her phone.

Her lifeline.

Where is it?

“Here,” says a quiet voice, one she hasn’t heard before, and Damien stands in front of her, out of line with his brothers and holding out her phone. He’s biting his lower lip, but his gaze is steady. “Figured you’d want it.”

When Mika reaches out to take her phone, she’s proud to see her hand only shakes a little bit.

Damien retreats back to his brothers.

The screen still says ‘911’ in emergency mode. Right.

If she just hit the green button, a simple phrase of ‘get me the police’ would suffice.

“Maybe we should tell her,” says Damien, his quiet voice easily heard in the vastness of the foyer.

“Tell me what?” Mika hadn’t realized she’d curved in on herself, but she was. Shoulders slightly hunched, head lowered, hands clutched close to her chest.

These strangers scared her, and she doesn’t know where to look.

“Well, it’s hard to explain…” Erik begins, moving his hand away from his wound, and it sends a wave of light-headedness rushing through Mika to realize — shit, that wound’s not just scabbed over, it’s down-right  _healed._ Nothing left to suggest there ever was a wound except the bloodied fabric and Erik’s paleness. Though, the latter could just be complexion.

Damien takes a step forwards as though to steady her, and his expression shifts into alarm and hurt when Mika takes a step back to keep their distance.

“James,” Damien turns to his brother, almost pleading.

James sighs, propping a hand on his hip.

There’s a tear on the sleeve of his grey jacket, from the cuffs all the way to his elbow, clean and sharp, like a knife-cut, and Mika doesn’t know how she missed it.

“We’re incubi, miss; demons of Lilith who consume and use sexual energy to survive…”

Incubi? Mika doesn’t process it for a second. Work and study had kept her away from occult-sounding things like that, but then she recalled that trashy romance novel Naomi used to read. About a demon and a human…

Damien chuckles out of nowhere, and Mika felt goosebumps on her arms. Abruptly, Damien stops laughing.

Sex demons?

She looks each brother over, this time for their appearance. There’s something extremely dissociative about the situation, she decides, and she when gets to Sam, he’s paying attention again.

“Hello?” He raises an eyebrow, and Mika suddenly remembers the feel of his hand on her face, his lips against hers, breathes mingling, hot and cold and like the brightness of the galaxy stuffed into one glorious moment, flushing. “Did you hear him?”

“We’re telling the truth…” Erik frowns, curling a slim digit under his chin.

“Do you think she’s still processing it…?” Matthew says, blue eyes like cut diamonds, like the sky, like heaven distilled into pools.

Damien fidgets, cheeks pink.

“What’s your problem?” Mika latches on it. Anything. Anything, to keep from thinking about demons and sex and Sam’s lips on hers— 

“Ah, er, miss, don’t—“ Damien stumbles over his words, a hand reaching towards Mika, then spins and buries his face in Erik’s shoulder. “I’m just mucking things up…"

“Miss, do you understand?” James brings her attention back to the real situation. “About us?”

Mika blinks furiously, pushing all thoughts of ‘kiss’ out of her mind. What did that book say about demons—

“No fucking way,” Mika says, and in a show of bravery, slips her phone into the pocket of her jeans. “Demons don’t exist. Spin another story.”

“Well, we didn’t lie,” Sam says with a shrug, hands shoved into his pockets, standing in a slouch, and Mika has the sudden urge to kick him in the balls. See how snotty he is _then_.

She turns away: “Prove it.” Mika raises her chin, staring at James in the eye.

“Very well,” James closes his eyes and motions with his hand. “Erik, go ahead.”

Mr. Pink Waistcoat chuckles, sashaying forwards, voice sing-song. “Very well.”

He lifts a lock of Mika’s hair and tilts her chin up with a finger. His skin feel like satin, supple and cool. Despite that, heat spreads from the contact, and not a second later Mika finds herself being hyper sensitive to him: his skin, his scent, his voice.

Everything.

“My sweet, sweet princess,” he purrs next to her ear. A finger sweeps over her lips, sending little sparks of sensation shooting downwards. Mika clenches her fists to keep herself from shuddering. “You’re so tempting with your non-belief… let me ease your mind with a tender kiss.”

His lips ghosts over her ear, and Mika shivers, feeling hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “I promise you’ll enjoy every second of it, and maybe even ask for more.”

Mika, however, refuses to believe she’d be this cheap, this easy.

Squashing the shivers with an iron fist, she meets Erik’s purple gaze with a blazing glare. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Something shifts in Erik’s eyes. Something deep, and unreadable. His suave smile drops for a moment before returning, and _something_ is off.

It doesn’t seem to faze Erik, what it was.

He dips his head, and presses his lips to Mika’s.

It’s like a firework went off in her mind: an explosion of a different kind. Her lips tingle, sending waves of electric pleasure rocking from her fingers to her toes; her eyes flutter shut: stars blossom and die in the false darkness. Erik tastes of peppermint, and the scent of roses wraps around her. Her legs buckle, her arms go limp, and Erik catches her, winding a hand around her waist, never breaking the kiss. He nips at her bottom lip, and she gives an embarrassingly vulnerable gasp.

Apparently, that’s James’ cue, for he claps his hands once, cutting through the haze in Mika’s mind. “Alright, that’s enough."

Erik laughs against her mouth. As an encore, he licks across her lips, then draws back.

Mika retains enough higher thinking to notice Erik’s paleness has gone. Now, he looks positively radiant. There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, and his eyes glitter like jewels. 

She also hadn’t realized she’s clinging to him to stay upright. His arm is still around her waist, supporting her.

She doesn’t think she can stand on her own.

Her energy certainly went _somewhere_.

Erik’s smug smile swims in her vision, and Mika has enough of a mind to mutter, “I think I’m going to—“ before crumpling in Erik’s arms.

Sam groans.

James sighs.

Erik purses his lips. “Oops?”

 

 

 

Consciousness graces Mika with the flutter of silk against her arm.

There’s still a second of delay between her mind and her body, but the second it connects, Mika Anderson shoots off the bed, then groans and clutches her arm. She was going to storm down and give those incubi a piece of her mind about _draining her fucking energy_ (oh god never again will she swear the same way) but.

She’s landed on her funny bone.

There’s a flurry of footsteps muffled by the carpet. Damien’s concerned face appears in her vision (“Are you alright?”). Reminded of the fiasco that’s sex demons and _blood in her foyer_ Mika groans again, louder and more irritated, then tries to kick him, half-heartedly.

“Leave me alone,” she mumbles into the carpet, pinky tingling uncomfortably.

Damien coughs, sounding suspiciously like laughter, then sits, crossed-legged, on the floor beside Mika’s head.

“How are you feeling, Miss Anderson?”

She tenses for a moment, but with her arm being uncooperative and fatigue still tugging at her mind, gives up. She flops around a little, getting comfortable on the floor. Whatever. She didn’t care anymore. “Good god, is that another demon magic trick? Knowing my name?”

Damien is comfortably in her field of vision, and there’s a smile on his face.

“You can say that.” His voice is as quiet as ever, though without the echoing quality of the foyer’s exposed space, it’s soothing. “I can read minds. It’s an ability I was born with. Each of us has a different ability outside of our usual mind-altering powers.”

“Call me Mika. Miss Anderson makes me feel like Mum.”

“Sure, Mika."

Her pinky’s stopped being funny. Cautiously, Mika throws the offending arm over her eyes, and thinks:

_what’s that called, then? the prerequisite demon skillset?_

Damien replies with a chuckle. “What Erik used on you earlier is the simplest of incubus powers, enthrallment. Simply put, it places the recipient’s mind at ease."

_for sex?_

“Uh,” Damien fidgets. “I wouldn’t…put it so crudely.”

Mika sighs.

_great. is there a way to defend against it?_

Damien blinks in surprise, but gave the question some thought. Slowly, he says, “I suppose, if someone has a very strong mind…”

_and how do you get a strong mind?_

“I think your mind is the strongest I’ve come across.” Damien smiles down at the girl sprawled on the carpet. “I haven’t seen anyone recover that fast from an energy drain, nor seen someone hold out for so long against Erik.”

_you make it sound like a tiresome thing._

He merely smiles.

Mika lifts her arm. The worst of the hit’s over, and she’s ready to face the brothers. Gathering what’s left of her dignity, she sits up.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. It was sunset when you passed out, so…”

She glanced at the clock. 8 o’clock.

Damien stands up with her. “My brothers are downstairs cleaning up the blood. We’re also making you dinner as an apology, hehe.”

Oh.

Mika attempts a tentative smile at Damien, then sighs internally when the acknowledgement makes his face light up in joy like a Christmas tree. “Much appreciated. Do you happen to know where my duffel bags and _oh shit keys_.” She slaps a hand to her face. “I’m sorry. Have you seen either of those?”

He laughs, at that. “Making dinner for you is the least we can do, Mika. As for your items, I do believe one of my brothers found them. Let’s head downstairs?”

Mika nods.

At the door, she takes a deep breath. When she looks to Damien, she sees a strange emotion in his eyes. Almost…admiration?

In reply, Damien smiles, again.

Downstairs, her duffel bags sit on the sofa. The keys rest on the side table, and with a huff of relief Mika hurries over to stuff them in a pocket. Wouldn’t do to loose the set of master keys.

Now. Duffel bags.

“I’ll head over to the dining room,” Damien says, looking around at the thankfully cleaned foyer. “You can unpack after dinner?”

With a suspicion that she wouldn’t have the energy to bring these bags up after dinner, Mika hoists them from the sofa, turning to climb the stairs again.

That room they picked for her earlier — why don’t she just use that.

At the top of the staircase, she nearly ran into someone.

He skids to a stop in front of her, bouncing with energy. The skull on his shirt’s cleaned of blood, and Mika raises an eyebrow. “You’re Matthew, right?”

“Yep, that’s me! Are you feeling better now? We were all worried when you suddenly passed out earlier. Did Damien take care of you okay?” He rattles, but Mika just stares at him in incredulity. 

So, do demons need sexual energy to recover…or not? This ball of energy seem to say otherwise. Mika looks at Matthew’s sleeve, and sure enough, the wound there’s healed.

Matthew caught her gaze, and quietens.

“I wanted to apologize for my behaviour earlier,” Mika says, adjusting a strap. Matthew’s eyes widens comically, mouth opening to no doubt produce a stream of protests. Mika quickly holds up a hand. “I was out of line. There was no need to treat you like that.”

Matthew blinks at her for a moment, then his face splits into a smile. “That’s alright, water under the bridge! Hey, I have an idea.”

Mika shifts her weight and waits.

“Wait for it, wait for it…” Matthew sticks his hands into his jacket pockets, grinning heartily, then whipped them out. “Tada~!”

“Um,” Mika bends for a better look at the fluffy white toy Matthew produced. “What is it, exactly?”

He waves a hand as if to dismiss the question, then he glances down and catches a glimpse of the thing he’s holding. “Wait a second… urgh, _what is this?!”_

Upon closer inspection, it’s a killer bunny. A fluffy white killer bunny with red eyes and a toothpick.

Matthew’s face pales considerably, dropping the plush toy like a hot iron and scooting away from it with frantic motions. “Get it away from me! It could be possessed by a demon or something! That’s not what I wanted to make—I wanted to surprise you with a stuffed animal or something to cheer you up, not this!”

Mika bends to pick it up.

She holds it up to examine it under the light of the chandelier. “You made this?”

He’s approaching Mika and the toy cautiously, a baby step at a time. “Well, in a sense. I conjured it.”

“No difference to me.” Mika smiles at Matthew, feeling much more cheerful. She sticks the toy into a bag. “I think I’ll keep it, thanks.”

“Oh,” he pauses, staring from Mika to the toy in her bag. “But it’s so creepy.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“Haha, you’re welcome, then! Even though it still creeps me out… You should come with me to the dining room, we’re almost finished with the food, and, well,” He switches topics like a drifting car. Mika leans back from his enthusiasm, slightly overwhelmed. Where does this kid’s energy come from? “I don’t mean to brag, but we’re pretty decent chefs.”

Mika cracks a grin. First Damien, then Matthew. Maybe she just have to stick with these guys for the duration they’re here, and steer clear of Sam and Erik. Maybe she can get through this without anymore trip-ups.

“Let me put my bags down first?” She shrugs to indicate her two bags. "I’d love to try demon-brand human food.”

Matthew’s answering smile is like sunlight breaking through thunderclouds. Mika has to be mindful of not shutting her eyes at the brightness.

He zips down the staircase into the dining room, and Mika makes her way back to the room she came out from.

Dropping her bags at the door, she decides that to be sufficient ‘unpacking’ for the day. After making sure the balcony windows are locked, she places the Fluffy Killer Bunny on the mantel. Then she followed its line of sight right to her pillow, pursed her lips, and placed the bunny facing in.

“If you turn around in the middle of the night I’ll know something’s up with Matthew’s ‘conjuring’.” Mika says, half to herself and half to the rabbit. “You know what? You. Look like. A Simon.”

Then she pats Simon on his tuft of forehead fur, and leaves the room.

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully this'll make me get better at writing kissing.
> 
> do flavors even work that way; how far exactly does enthrallment go...
> 
> took some liberties on demon magic too. if anyone knows more, please do comment!


End file.
